Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city of this earth, ever afterward resumes its liberty. - Walt Whitman

O sight of pity, shame and dole!
O fearful thought - a convict soul.

I dream in my dream all the dreams of the other dreamers,
And I become the other dreamers.

The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived power but in his own right,
Wicked, rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear,
Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak,
Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than a wound cuts,
First rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's eye, to sail a skiff, to sing a song or play on the banjo,
Preferring scars and faces pitted with smallpox over all latherers and those that keep out the sun.